


Crossing Burning Bridges

by ruination_fangs



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (and back to friends we hope), Canon-Typical Violence, Crimson Flower Route, F/F, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Male My Unit | Byleth, beagles shamir ain't holding back, narrative bias against the church
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruination_fangs/pseuds/ruination_fangs
Summary: Just because Rhea has chosen death over admitting defeat doesn't mean Catherine has to.If only Shamir could make her see that.
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 18





	Crossing Burning Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> I love crimson flower but I also love cathmir and I demand they both be allowed to exist at the same time. it's possible to end the final battle without killing catherine, so......
> 
> there should be a second chapter to this, but knowing me it won't be up until 2022

The battle at Fhirdiad is the most hellish one yet.

The southern half of the city is on fire, and the flames continue to spread. Empire soldiers and Knights of Seiros clash in the streets until the air is filled with the scents of smoke and blood and charred flesh. Shamir is acutely aware as she moves from alley to alley that there are civilians everywhere - huddled in the few houses that are still safe, crouched in the corners of courtyards, fleeing down the main roads carrying children and valuables while bodies collapse around them.

If ever she was glad to have left the church, it's now, but she doesn't even have the time to be disgusted.

Instead she and her unit have pushed through the chaos into the middle of the city, where the flames aren't as high but there are knights around every corner. Shamir finds a vantage point on the roof of a sturdy building, crouches behind the chimney, and steadfastly does not wonder if she knows the faces behind the helmets she's aiming at.

Another arrow fired. Another body falls. She reaches for her quiver.

The streets below are starting to clear out, most of the enemies picked off or forced back by the foot soldiers following her troop, when the air shifts. Shamir looks up just before it happens - a deafening roar that turns into a howl of agony, and she swears the entire city shakes beneath them. Then all goes still.

The fighting down below stops momentarily, too, as the survivors process what they just heard. Then another, smaller roar sounds out from above, followed by a shout - a wyvern unit. Petra and Ashe, Shamir thinks, chasing a group of pegasus riders back toward the castle. Shamir personally oversaw the last leg of their archery training, and she has no doubt they'll hit their targets even while airborne.

She keeps her eyes peeled as she climbs down from the roof, and sticks to the shelter of overhangs as she moves out. Crushed by a falling pegasus would be the stupidest way to die here.

There was little order to the fighting before, but now the battle is in complete disarray. Some soldiers retreat; others continue desperately pushing on; many of the remaining knights have already thrown down their swords and surrendered. A disturbance a block away catches Shamir's attention, and she scrambles down another alley and over a pile of rubble to find the source:

It's only one knight. One knight with her pale hair coming undone, armor bent and bloodstained, relic on the ground, hands balled into fists. She crouches on the cobblestone street and turns her head to face each of the empire soldiers surrounding her, an evenly-spaced circle that's quickly closing in to -

"Stop!"

Shamir's voice cuts through the air over the dull roar of the fire and the weapons still clashing in the distance. Several of the soldiers turn to face her, tense and confused. They all must know her as a commander, but her reputation is one of lurking in shadows and terse, clipped replies. Even Shamir didn't know she was capable of such volume.

And the sound echoes in her head when she looks down at the scene and there, among all the eyes now fixed on her, are Catherine's.

She takes a breath and moves forward. "We've already won," she states. "There's no need for that."

One of the soldiers still has his lance poised to strike. Shamir resists the urge to shoot it out of his hands.

"But this is Thunder Catherine," he starts, and Shamir says more sharply than she intended, "I know who this is."

There's another silence. Shamir knows what he was going to say - she's an enemy general, she's regarded as the strongest of the Knights, they can't truly win until she's defeated. And she knows what they're thinking - that she and Shamir used to be partners, used to be almost inseparable, and this is nothing more than foolish sentimentality holding Shamir back.

It is foolish sentimentality. And Shamir is okay with that. Because she's seen it all before, seen this same scene played out so many times between the Black Eagle Strike Force and the other students of the Officers Academy, the ones who wouldn't join them. She saw it when they fought Lorenz at Myrddin, and Ingrid at Arionhrod, and even Dimitri and Dedue at the Tailtean Plains. The despair was palpable when they were forced to kill an old friend too stubborn to stand down, too noble to abandon their beliefs, and the same sentiment was echoed through their base for weeks afterward: _Why? They had already lost. He didn't have to die._

Shamir has never considered life sacred, has never balked to shoot down any enemy in her way. But she understands now why Edelgard and Byleth have never tried to cull that softness from their army. Though people across the land curse the emperor's name for starting this war, Shamir has witnessed more mercy from the Empire than she did from the church that preached it.

Besides, she thinks with an odd wrenching feeling in her chest - there's no need to fear that Catherine is still a threat. One look at her, knelt on the ground in smudged and bent armor, Thunderbrand out of reach, expression blank, and Shamir knows she's already defeated. She was broken the moment Rhea took her last breath.

When she moves closer the circle shifts to let her in, and most of the soldiers relax their weapons. And even as their blades retreat, Catherine suddenly springs to life - but not forward, back, procuring a dagger from the recesses of her armor, and -

"Catherine!" Shamir shouts, half warning and half panic, and one of the soldiers rushes forward. Catherine must be truly exhausted, because it doesn't take long for him to wrestle her to a standstill, the dagger tight in a fist she can't move. She tries once, twice, and then goes limp.

Shamir finally takes the last few steps to her, and Catherine laughs, a hollow, mirthless sound.

"Thought you'd drive the knife into my back one last time, huh, _partner?_ You abandoned me, and chased Lady Rhea all the way here, and now you won't even let me die like a knight?"

Shamir wrenches the dagger away from her and throws it to the ground several feet away. "Are you fucking stupid?" she hisses. "What's the point in 'dying like a knight'? It won't accomplish anything. Just one more body for us to burn."

Catherine doesn't say anything. Her eyes are dull with a lifelessness Shamir has never seen in them before, like she's already halfway to the death she craves. Shamir signals to the soldier to let her go, and when he does, Catherine's arms fall limply to her sides. She seems like she could fall over at any second.

"You're coming with us," Shamir commands. "To the infirmary, not the dungeons. And don't try anything funny, or you really will get a blade through your back, and it'll probably be a lot less pleasant than you think."

Wordlessly Catherine lets Shamir grab her arm and pull her forward. Several of the soldiers stay close by, one loosely clutching Catherine's other arm, another hesitantly picking up Thunderbrand.

As they start to move, Catherine finally speaks.

"...Rhea," she says softly, and then stronger: "Let me see Lady Rhea before we go."

Shamir pauses, but sees no harm in it. Besides, they should probably report this to the emperor, who no doubt hasn't gone far from the scene.

They change course to the center of the city. Catherine stumbles along next to her, half tripping over herself so that Shamir can't tell if she's injured to the point of collapse or simply dragging her feet. That kind of recalcitrance really isn't helping, Shamir thinks, but then, she can hardly blame her. Catherine has just lost _everything._

Well. Her grip tightens on Catherine's arm. Almost everything.

One last flight of stairs takes them to the large stone courtyard where the battle took place. Most of the perimeter is in shambles, crushed by the dragon's claws or tail. Shattered bricks and splinters of wood litter the ground, and the stone beneath them is scorched in several places. And there, on the far side of the courtyard, is the Immaculate One - collapsed, broken, unmoving.

She really is dead.

Catherine falls to her knees at the sight; Shamir can almost hear the breath leave her body. Her eyes remain fixed on the pool of green blood beneath her neck, the slashes that cover her torso, the bruises on the white scales and tears in her limp wings. It's almost eerie to behold, Shamir has to admit. The longer she stares, the most she's filled with an empty feeling she can't quite describe.

"How..." The voice beside her is almost a whimper, yet turns into a choked growl. "Those bastards... How could you..."

Catherine's eyes rove across the courtyard until they light on the dusty red shape hunched on the ground. Those eyes, Shamir thinks - she's never seen such hatred in them, such raw anger. 

And then abruptly the rage softens into something almost like - concern, and Shamir realizes what Edelgard is huddled over.

Now it's her turn for her breath to catch. It would be foolish to think they could get through this without any casualties, but still. Of all people...

"Edelgard," she calls, and the emperor straightens slowly. It's then that Shamir sees the body prone beneath her twitch and curl into Edelgard slightly, and she's almost surprised at the strength of the relief that courses through her. "Is he...?"

"He's alive." When Edelgard looks up, the tracks of dried tears are plain to see on her cheeks, clean lines through the blood and grime on her skin. "He's alive..."

Byleth doesn't respond. His head is tilted back in Edelgard's lap; he may be asleep, dark hair falling over his eyes. Dark hair... Shamir blinks.

Beside her, Catherine has gone quiet again. Her eyes remain fixed on the couple across the courtyard. It may still be anger, or relief to see the professor alive after all. It may be jealousy, that Edelgard should be allowed to keep the object of her affections while Catherine has lost all of hers, one by one. It may just be too much to process.

Shamir urges her back to her feet. "Come on," she says. "You need a medic."

Catherine doesn't resist, not as Shamir drags her up nor as she pushes her back out of the courtyard. The soldier takes his place at her other side, and they limp slowly down the wide streets, avoiding bodies and crying civilians and the blocks of buildings that are still alight. Catherine is dead silent, apart from her rasping breaths, and Shamir is starting to find the quiet more unsettling than the fact that they're half-carrying her now.

She's still not used to losing, Shamir thinks. Catherine post-battle used to be boisterous and proud, no matter how tired she was, no matter how banged-up she got. Even if her comrades took heavy losses, she would bite back her frustration and look for a silver lining. She always said that dwelling on the chances of defeat is the first step to losing.

Despite the series of lost battles that led them here, the Church must have held out hope - otherwise they never would have tried this insane gambit. They bet everything, and they lost it all. What is there left for her now?

There's no point in wondering. Right now they have to focus on keeping her alive long enough to find out, and the longer they walk, the heavier Catherine feels. Shamir has to put all her energy into guiding them through the city, even though several more soldiers have joined them now and are clearing the path ahead.

Finally the gates come into view, and then they're at the edge of the city, and then the stretch of ground leading to the Empire's camp. The tents and makeshift buildings are swarming with activity as troops flood back from the battlefield. The infirmary is at the center of it all but has spilled out to wherever they're needed, the army's medics and magic healers flitting from person to person, handing out quick fixes to small injuries and taking only the most grievously wounded inside.

Remarkably, Catherine is on the healthier side - no missing limbs, no profuse bleeding, no serious burns. But something about the blank look in her eyes, the lilt in her walk, and the way her breathing is increasingly audible must trouble the physicians, because one of them leads her and Shamir around the back and into one of the larger tents.

The first thing Shamir notices in the lantern light is that most of the cots are already in use. The second thing is Manuela hunched over a bed, wrapping up a leg that looks worse for wear. Catherine and Shamir stand in silence until she turns around, and her eyes widen. 

"Catherine? Is that really you?"

It takes Catherine a moment to register her voice. "In the flesh," she groans as Manuela rushes to join them. 

Immediately she starts checking Catherine over, even while she talks. "I'm... well, I'm glad to see that you're alive, not to mention here with us. Are you okay?"

Catherine blinks. "I..."

"She's in shock," Shamir supplies while Catherine stares straight ahead. "Also limping, and breathing funny. I don't think she's in immediate danger, but she could use a once-over."

"Of course, of course," Manuela says, eyeing a sizable dent in the side of Catherine's chest plate. "We'll need to get this off. From the severity of this damage, you may have a broken rib or two underneath there." Then she turns to Shamir as a dazed Catherine fumbles with the clasps of her armor. "And you?"

"I'll be fine. Look after the others first."

Manuela's gaze lingers, but then she turns back to Catherine. "Okay, but make sure you get seen to eventually. Also, if you're not being treated, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside."

Shamir nods and goes without question. Once she's outside, however, she realizes she has nowhere else to go at the moment. Surely there's plenty to do, but she finds that in the chaos immediately following a battle, running around without direction can cause more confusion than it solves.

She looks around. Edelgard is probably still in the city, and no doubt Hubert is with her by now. The generals are likely chasing down stragglers and bringing back prisoners. There are soldiers sitting on the ground by the infirmary, or carrying the bodies of fallen comrades under the canopies that serve as a morgue, or rushing back into Fhirdiad with water and stretchers. Groups of civilians huddle outside the city gates here and there, distrustful of the Empire officers but too shocked and grieving to leave the safety of the camp.

The beating of wings overhead makes her look up, and she watches as a pegasus lands in the field beyond and a figure runs up to greet it. The foot soldier is Dorothea, she realizes, and the rider is Ingrid, with something strapped to her back. Honestly, Shamir is a little surprised to see her here after how hard she fought for her king. Letting herself be spared was one thing, but Shamir wasn't convinced she would join their cause.

That was probably her classmates' doing, Shamir thinks as she watches Dorothea and Ingrid carefully remove the other figure from the back of the pegasus. She was probably bombarded with arguments and pleas from Dorothea, Ashe, Sylvain, and Felix, all of whom had turned their backs on the Church and Kingdom long before.

Felix - that's who they're supporting off the pegasus. He seems unable to walk, and the girls are holding him up between them. Shamir wonders if she should go help, but other troops have already noticed them and are sending for backup. 

Still, Shamir watches them move Felix inside, watches the way Dorothea's arm winds around Ingrid's shoulders to steady her. Ingrid reminds her a lot of another stubborn blonde knight she knows. If Ingrid could be persuaded to see sense, despite having to throw away the ideals she used to cling to, despite failing in her role... then maybe there's hope for Catherine yet.

They just need the right person to convince her.


End file.
